Guest post

I Call, You Respond

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A Guest Series Curated by Nicole Rollender. Intro to project here.

 

Call and Response: “The Days”

The late, great Jon Anderson used poetry as a vehicle for stark (and possibly uncomfortable) self-reckoning: “My prime motive for writing is self-confrontation, and I find poems the best way to employ language to do this. My poetry isn’t for everyone. It’s for people like myself who want to contend with themselves. I think of my poems as intimate conversations with close friends, to whom I’m not afraid to reveal my vulnerabilities and loneliness.” The poem, “The Days” comes from In Sepia, which was Anderson’s third book of poems. His poetry is spare and controlled – but movingly precise in emotion and observation.

 

The Days

All day I bear myself to such reward:
I close my eyes, I can’t sleep,
The trees are whispering flat as water. Continue reading →

I Call, You Respond

Posted on by

 

A Guest Series Curated by Nicole Rollender. Intro to project here.

 

Call and Response: “The Days”

The late, great Jon Anderson used poetry as a vehicle for stark (and possibly uncomfortable) self-reckoning: “My prime motive for writing is self-confrontation, and I find poems the best way to employ language to do this. My poetry isn’t for everyone. It’s for people like myself who want to contend with themselves. I think of my poems as intimate conversations with close friends, to whom I’m not afraid to reveal my vulnerabilities and loneliness.” The poem, “The Days” comes from In Sepia, which was Anderson’s third book of poems. His poetry is spare and controlled – but movingly precise in emotion and observation.

 

The Days

All day I bear myself to such reward:
I close my eyes, I can’t sleep,
The trees are whispering flat as water. Continue reading →

I Call, You Respond

Posted on by

A Guest Series Curated by Nicole Rollender. Intro to project here.

 

Call and Response: “The Lamb”

CALL:

Poet Linda Gregg, who has taught at the University of Iowa, the University of California-Berkeley and Princeton University, writes lyrical poems that speak to grief, seeking and desire with absolute attention to craft. Poet W.S. Merwin has said about Gregg’s work: “I have loved Linda Gregg’s poems since I first read them. They are original in the way that really matters: they speak clearly of their source. They are inseparable from the surprising, unrolling, eventful, pure current of their language, and they convey at once the pain of individual loss, a steady and utterly personal radiance.” “The Lamb,” from Gregg’s Chosen By the Lion is very much a doorway for a reader: to doom, salvation or some limbo in between?

 

The Lamb

It was a picture I had after the war.
A bombed English church. I was too young
to know the word English or war,
but I knew the picture.
The ruined city still seemed noble.
The cathedral with its roof blown off
was not less godly. The church was the same
plus rain and sky. Birds flew in and out
of the holes God’s fist made in the walls.
All our desire for love or children
is treated like rags by the enemy.
I knew so much and sang anyway.
Like a bird who will sing until
it is brought down. When they take
away the trees, the child picks up a stick
and says, this is a tree, this the house
and the family. As we might. Through a door
of what had been a house, into the field
of rubble, walks a single lamb, tilting
its head, curious, unafraid, hungry.

 

 RESPONSE #3: by Amy Loder Continue reading →

I Call, You Respond

Posted on by

 

A Guest Series Curated by Nicole Rollender. Intro to project here.

 

Call and Response: “The Lamb”

CALL:

Poet Linda Gregg, who has taught at the University of Iowa, the University of California-Berkeley and Princeton University, writes lyrical poems that speak to grief, seeking and desire with absolute attention to craft. Poet W.S. Merwin has said about Gregg’s work: “I have loved Linda Gregg’s poems since I first read them. They are original in the way that really matters: they speak clearly of their source. They are inseparable from the surprising, unrolling, eventful, pure current of their language, and they convey at once the pain of individual loss, a steady and utterly personal radiance.” “The Lamb,” from Gregg’s Chosen By the Lion is very much a doorway for a reader: to doom, salvation or some limbo in between?

 

The Lamb

It was a picture I had after the war.
A bombed English church. I was too young
to know the word English or war,
but I knew the picture.
The ruined city still seemed noble.
The cathedral with its roof blown off
was not less godly. The church was the same
plus rain and sky. Birds flew in and out
of the holes God’s fist made in the walls.
All our desire for love or children
is treated like rags by the enemy.
I knew so much and sang anyway.
Like a bird who will sing until
it is brought down. When they take
away the trees, the child picks up a stick
and says, this is a tree, this the house
and the family. As we might. Through a door
of what had been a house, into the field
of rubble, walks a single lamb, tilting
its head, curious, unafraid, hungry.

 

RESPONSE #2: by Jennifer Tomlin Continue reading →

I Call, You Respond

Posted on by

 

A Guest Series Curated by Nicole Rollender. Intro to project here.

Call and Response: “The Lamb”

CALL:

Poet Linda Gregg, who has taught at the University of Iowa, the University of California-Berkeley and Princeton University, writes lyrical poems that speak to grief, seeking and desire with absolute attention to craft. Poet W.S. Merwin has said about Gregg’s work: “I have loved Linda Gregg’s poems since I first read them. They are original in the way that really matters: they speak clearly of their source. They are inseparable from the surprising, unrolling, eventful, pure current of their language, and they convey at once the pain of individual loss, a steady and utterly personal radiance.” “The Lamb,” from Gregg’s Chosen By the Lion is very much a doorway for a reader: to doom, salvation or some limbo in between?

 

The Lamb

It was a picture I had after the war.
A bombed English church. I was too young
to know the word English or war,
but I knew the picture.
The ruined city still seemed noble.
The cathedral with its roof blown off
was not less godly. The church was the same
plus rain and sky. Birds flew in and out
of the holes God’s fist made in the walls.
All our desire for love or children
is treated like rags by the enemy.
I knew so much and sang anyway.
Like a bird who will sing until
it is brought down. When they take
away the trees, the child picks up a stick
and says, this is a tree, this the house
and the family. As we might. Through a door
of what had been a house, into the field
of rubble, walks a single lamb, tilting
its head, curious, unafraid, hungry. Continue reading →

I Call, You Respond

Posted on by

A Guest Series Curated by Nicole Rollender. Intro to project here.

Call and Response: “Metempsychosis”

CALL:

El Salvadoran poet Claribel Alegria, who has written nine books of poetry and prose, has long been a voice for self-determination in her homeland, even though she lived in self-imposed exile in North Africa with her family for a time. Alegria’s long relationship with her husband, Darwin “Bud” Flakoll – spiritual, extremely intimate, devoted to art and dedicated to humanitarian and social justice activities – started as a three-month fiery courtship and a quick marriage and grew into a rich, collaborative life of testimonio. Shortly before Alegria and Flakoll were to go on a trip to southern Asia in 1995, Flakoll passed away. Alegria traveled to Singapore, Bangkok and Jakarta with her husband’s soul, as she has said, and wrote her poetry collection, Sorrow, about that trip – and her posthumous dialogue with her husband.

For this call-and-response, I chose the poem “Metempsychosis,” which captures Alegria’s dual emotions of grief/wanting to die with her husband and acceptance/wanting to continue living, in such spare, short poems that offer wide, open spaces as the point of departure for reader response: Continue reading →

I Call, You Respond

Posted on by

 

A Guest Series Curated by Nicole Rollender. Intro to project here.

 

Call and Response: “Metempsychosis”

CALL:

El Salvadoran poet Claribel Alegria, who has written nine books of poetry and prose, has long been a voice for self-determination in her homeland, even though she lived in self-imposed exile in North Africa with her family for a time. Alegria’s long relationship with her husband, Darwin “Bud” Flakoll – spiritual, extremely intimate, devoted to art and dedicated to humanitarian and social justice activities – started as a three-month fiery courtship and a quick marriage and grew into a rich, collaborative life of testimonio. Shortly before Alegria and Flakoll were to go on a trip to southern Asia in 1995, Flakoll passed away. Alegria traveled to Singapore, Bangkok and Jakarta with her husband’s soul, as she has said, and wrote her poetry collection, Sorrow, about that trip – and her posthumous dialogue with her husband.

For this call-and-response, I chose the poem “Metempsychosis,” which captures Alegria’s dual emotions of grief/wanting to die with her husband and acceptance/wanting to continue living, in such spare, short poems that offer wide, open spaces as the point of departure for reader response: Continue reading →

I Call, You Respond

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I Call, You Respond: A Guest Series Curated by Nicole Rollender

 

I asked a group of 12 poets, fiction writers, photographers, visual artists and musicians to respond back quickly and viscerally to poem “calls” I sent them – with a poem, prose, a photograph, music or art and explain briefly why the poem elicited that response. Michèle Foster defines call and response as “spontaneous verbal and non-verbal interaction between speaker and listener in which all of the statements (‘calls’) are punctuated by expressions (‘responses’) from the listener.” Call and response has a long history, documented in sub-Saharan Africa as a working way for groups to govern themselves democratically and participate in religious rituals; this tradition survived on slave ships over into the New World, where it has come through centuries in gospel music, folk music, military cadences, rock and roll (consider The Who’s “My Generation,” call: “I hope I die before I get old; response: “Talkin’ ‘bout my generation”) Cuban music, rumba and more. As artists, we’re calling to readers and viewers with our work, so in this “I Call, You Respond” project, I wanted to see, over a few weeks, what responses four different poems would evoke in three artists. The results are stunning, thought-provoking and diverse.–NR Continue reading →

“language helps us hold the world and in doing so holds us”: A Conversation-Interview with Megan Burns and Laura Madeline Wiseman

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Laura Madeline Wiseman: In her NPR interview with Terry Gross in October 2011, Marie Howe talks about mystery and the unsayable in poetry. In talking about one her poems, she says, “I think I was trying to tell a narrative or trying to tell a story or trying to explain something. I don’t know. I couldn’t, you know, every poem holds the unspeakable inside it, the unsayable, you know, not unspeakable as in taboo but the unsayable, the thing that you can’t really say because it’s too complicated, it’s too complex for us.” Can you talk about mystery and the unsayble in your new book the Sound and Basin?sound and basin

Megan Burns: Laura, I like this idea of the “unsayable” rather than language being unable to hold what we need it to; it transfers the onus onto our ability to give space to what the poem can do. And sometimes, we as the poet, need to invest a bit of trust into the poem’s ability to be a placeholder for these events that seem to evade a simple telling. My first book, Memorial + Sight Lines, dealt with post-Katrina New Orleans, and I struggled a lot with being able to find the right “words” to capture that experience. So much new language emerges from these traumatic events, and in Sound and Basin, this struggle continues as I try to bear witness to the ongoing destruction caused by the Deepwater Horizon disaster. My third child was born months before the explosion and I watched the Gulf being flooded with oil as I would breastfeed her, so the experience of this destruction of life and the preciousness of life is deeply intertwined in this collection. It’s strange to qualify disaster, but the Deepwater Horizon event felt to me so much more perilous than Katrina, because if we destroy our waters with such careless negligence than there really is not much hope for a future planet for in which my children can live. Continue reading →

Virtual Blog Tour: A Cute Tombstone, by Zarina Zabrisky

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ACT Banner draft 2 final

author photoZarina Zabrisky is the author of two short story collections IRON and A CUTE TOMBSTONE (Epic Rites Press) and a novel WE, MONSTERS (Numina Press).  Zabrisky’s work has appeared in over thirty literary magazines and anthologies in the US, UK, Canada, Ireland, Hong Kong, and Nepal. She is a three-time Pushcart Prize nominee and a recipient of 2013 Acker Award. Read more about the author at zarinazabrisky.com. You can purchase A CUTE TOMBSTONE here!

 

Zarina Zabrisky Explores the Portrait of Russia & Its Citizens in A CUTE TOMBSTONE

 

A young woman named Lyn, who is residing in America, flies back to Russia to bury her mother. Eerie, funny, A CUTE TOMBSTONE is a dark satire on a bureaucratic and brainwashed country—or state of mind. After deciding on a closed casket for her mother’s funeral–which is not what Russians traditionally do, we are told–she goes to the Ritual Agency to order her mother’s portrait to be placed by the casket. Lyn brings a few different photos of her mother to choose from: with blond hair in Paris at a music award ceremony just before she passed away, with black hair as a college basketball star, and on a beach with Lyn’s father. Lyn assess the waiting room of the Ritual Agency while she waits her turn:

“Dead women and men from the advertising display fixed their steely eyes on me, frowning. This was a no-smiling zone. I could imagine their lives: At six, they probably played with German trains and tanks–war souvenirs. At eighteen they were getting married in dresses made from curtains, airy veils and ill-fitted military uniforms–the women pregnant already. At sixty, they had great-grandchildren and died of heart attacks and lung cancer. I read samples of obituaries: ‘Deeply respected veteran of labor and the loving grandfather–’” Continue reading →